


Wouldn’t it be nice (if the best is yet to come)

by cortexikid



Series: A Regular Fuckin' Frank Sinatra [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Stan Adrian Mellon and all the kids were resurrected because fuck Stephen King, Eddie can sing, Eddie is concerned for many reasons, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Richie has a work-meeting with his ex boyfriend, but mostly what happens if Richie decides to get back together with him, can be read as a one-shot, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid
Summary: “Eddieisyour boyfriend, right?”Just as Richie opened his mouth to hastily correct the assumption, a hand landed on his shoulder.“I’ll bring the car ‘round Rich…” Eddie murmured quietly, leaning in impossibly close, and to Richie’s astonishment, kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth, barely half an inch from his lips.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: A Regular Fuckin' Frank Sinatra [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656979
Comments: 32
Kudos: 297





	Wouldn’t it be nice (if the best is yet to come)

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to Simone for the brilliant song-choice of The Best Is Yet To Come by Frank Sinatra. 
> 
> This became a way longer thing than I thought it would. Oh well lol. 
> 
> You don’t *need* to read any of the other instalments to understand this, but could if ya want ;)

Contrary to popular belief, Richard Wentworth Tozier was not an idiot.

In fact, he was pretty fucking smart. Always had been. The slew of only A’s and B’s throughout his entire academic career helped prove that. He just preferred to _play_ the fool. Everyone always underestimated the fool, which worked in Richie’s favour when he wanted to get away with shit. Which was all the time.

So no, generally speaking, Richie was no village idiot, fool or clown.

(Definitely not a fucking clown.)

He was just hopelessly, desperately in love.

And _that_ made him dumb. Sometimes.

Case in point, at 41 years of age, climbing into bed and demanding Eddie Kaspbrak do the same before singing him to sleep like he was some distressed, teething toddler in need of a lullaby. Only to then awake the next morning to be confronted by the devastating sight of a sleeping Eds, all rumpled and adorable, barely four inches from his face.

Now there was an image he would never get out of his head.

_Fuck._

God, he had slept, though. Eddie’s soft and pleasant singing had made him feel comfortably warm all over, easing the tension that had plagued his entire body. The words of Frank Sinatra sang by his best friend had lulled him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he had had in a long, long time. Which was more than what he could say about the previous six nights where he had caught maybe an hour of restless, fitful sleep before being jerked violently awake, eyes stinging and throat raw, to waste the far too long day gormlessly.

_Who knew you just needed Eds beside you to sleep nightmare-free?_

Richie did. Richie knew. He knew that all he needed for most things was Eddie by his side.

And that was the problem.

“...chie. Richie!”

Richie’s eyes snapped up, breaking from his reverie to be met with a quizzical Eddie Kaspbrak, waving a spatula in front of his face.

“Uh, what?”

A cute little line formed between Eddie’s eyebrows as he presumably repeated, “I said do you want fried or scrambled?”

“Oh, uh. Dealer’s choice, dude.”

Eddie tilted his head at him, clearly noticing something was up but thankfully, for once didn’t comment on it. He turned back to the stove and began heating the oil in the frying pan, humming a little as he cracked eggs into a bowl. Richie relaxed, shoulders deflating as he watched Eddie work, listening to his talented humming as he moved about the kitchen with the ease of someone who knew it inside and out. Which he did, to be fair. He had lived with Richie for over five months now and had really made the place his own.

_Their own._

Richie found himself glancing around the apartment and catching little hints here and there of their shared life. His old comic book collection propped up against Eddie’s Encyclopedia Britannica. Eddie’s Lou Gehrig baseball card that he inherited from his dad right next to the framed ticket stub of Richie’s very first standup gig.

And that was just the living room.

The kitchen was almost entirely Eddie. He had made it his mission to replace almost every utensil Richie had, and adding a lot more, deeming the very sparse selection “something from a frat-boy’s frat-house” to which Richie pointed out the redundancy of repeating “frat”, but conceded that he probably had a point. And so, off they went to Home Depot. He still had nightmares of being stuck in a never-ending aisle of colliders and floating ladles to this day.

“The best is yet to come…”

Richie’s stomach lurched as he watched Eddie scramble the eggs, his dulcet tone causing a shiver to flow up his spine.

"And babe won't it be fine…"

Richie’s eyes traced the line of Eddie’s relaxed shoulders under his oversized sleep-shirt, adorably rumbled from his stint in Richie’s bed. His heart did somersaults at that revelation. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky that he got to see this, see Eddie like this, first thing in the morning. Comfortable and confident, singing quietly to himself, well aware that he had an audience of one. _You’ve always been the exception, Rich,_ he had said a while back, turning Richie’s world on its axis as usual. Now, the few times Eddie sang in his presence, he just about managed to restrain himself from propping his chin in his hand and heaving a giant, contented sigh.

“Best is yet to come, come the day you're mine…”

Warmth pooled in Richie’s stomach as he fought a smile. God, this was the best kinda torture.

_Bzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz._

Richie jumped at the abrupt vibration of his cell phone, dancing its way across the kitchen counter, _DEVIL INCARNATE_ lighting up its screen. Eddie's singing stopped.

“You uh, you gonna get that?”

Their eyes met.

“Nope.”

“Richie. You can’t avoid your agent forever.”

“Watch me.”

They stared at one another.

_Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz._

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie wiped his hands on the dishcloth on his shoulder, like he was Sam from Cheers only a foot shorter, snatching up the phone and holding it to his ear before Richie could barely blink.

“Richie Tozier’s phone, Eddie Kaspbrak speaking.”

Richie watched closely as Eddie nodded, expression darkening as he listened to whatever Steve was spouting.

“Uh huh. Right. Well, I don’t think he—oh. Oh...kay. I’m not sure—right.”

Richie could feel a slow smirk crossing over his face. Watching Steve lay into someone else that wasn’t him for a change was kinda nice.

“Well, he probably—okay, I’ll tell him. Yeah. Bye.”

Eddie slowly lowered the phone back down to the counter, blinking slowly.

“Ya just got Steve’d, Eds.”

“I did not!”

“Yep, you did,” Richie grinned his best cheshire grin, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back in the stool, “So, what did Satan just order you to order me?”

Eddie scowled, jaw clenching as his eyes lowered.

“He booked you lunch at that tacky café you love—”

“Frying Nemo’s?” Richie laughed, rubbing his hands together. “Alright! I thought this was gonna be a bad—”

“To meet Bobby.”

Richie felt the blood drain from his face.

“Bobby…?” he croaked, hoping it was some other Bobby and not—

“Your ex. Yeah.”

Eddie looked like someone had shoved a shit sandwich under his nose. Richie had told him all about the whirlwind that was Bobby Valens, one night last June after one too many homemade margaritas and too few blunts. It was in between his fourth and fifth slice of Vegetarian’s Nightmare pizza that he started to spill his guts about the one and only time he had ever said the L word out loud to someone.

(And he didn’t mean Lesbian.)

What Richie had conveniently forgotten to mention during his ill-advised over-share was that he hadn’t actually meant what he said. At least, he had realised later, after reconnecting with his childhood friends and remembered what Love with a capital L actually felt like, that he hadn’t really been In Love™ with Bobby after all. He had just thought he was.

Because back then, he hadn’t remembered Eddie Kaspbrak.

“I should have fought him on it, or given you the phone,” the man in question broke through Richie’s thoughts, forehead wrinkling in worry, “shit, sorry Rich—I—I know your history with Bobby. Are you...gonna be okay meeting with him? Should I try and call Steve back and—”

“Nah Eds, I’ll be fine,” Richie cut across what was sure to be a Kaspbrakian rant of epic proportions, “I can’t avoid Bobby forever. He is one of the best in the biz. And we’re professionals.”

Eddie stared at him.

“Okay, _he’s_ a professional,” Richie amended with a shrug, “and I’m...over it. Over him.”

Eddie didn’t look convinced.

But it was the truth. If only half the truth. Because yeah, Richie was over Bobby, but if he was being 100% honest with himself, he was never really that _under_ him to begin with. Even when he did have Derry amnesia. Couple that with the fact that in recent years Richie was again, not-so-gently reminded of what genuinely being ass-over-tea-kettle-in-love with someone _actually_ felt like? Yeah, he could safely say that he was definitely over whatever miniscule something he had kinda felt, once upon a time, for Bobby Valens.

But he couldn’t exactly tell Eddie that.

Hence the look of disbelief marring his friend’s adorably grumpy face.

“Eds, I’m good. Really,” he smiled as a plate of (what he knew were perfectly-seasoned) scrambled eggs and toast was put in front of him.

Eddie hummed quietly, eyes lowered as he turned off the stove and plated his own food, facing away from Richie.

“Have you...have you guys talked since…?”

“Since Bobby told me he had a fling with his valet and I had the very mature response of throwing a drink in his face and trying to escape out his bathroom window?" Richie finished with a grimace. "No. No we have not."

Getting stuck halfway out a fifth floor window only to then get pulled free by the man he was trying to escape from hadn't exactly been his proudest moment. Eddie nodded, his back still turned as he buttered some toast with more focus than it probably warranted.

"And you're sure you don't...still have uh, feelings for him?"

Richie pushed around the eggs on his plate, his stomach clenching.

_Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at—_

"Yeah...I'm sure."

He felt rather than saw Eddie turn around and sit down next to him at the kitchen island. After a few minutes of the only sounds being their forks clattering against plates, Eddie finally piped up, face clouded with something that Richie couldn’t name.

"You should wear the navy shirt Bev made you. Show that asshole what he's missing."

Richie smiled into his coffee.

~*~

_Don't freak out._

_Do._

_Not._

_Freak._

_Out._

_It's just lunch._

_Lunch with the only man he's ever loved._

_No big deal._

_Stop freaking out!_

Eddie stared at his rapidly reddening face in the bathroom mirror. It had been over four hours since he had answered Richie’s phone to his demonic agent and his blood pressure had been skyrocketing through the roof ever since.

Stupid Bobby Valens and his dumb marketing talents.

_God, now he’s making me rhyme._

In Eddie’s opinion, Richie didn’t need all the pomp and circumstance that went with marketing managers to sell his new Netflix show, but clearly Satan himself disagreed if their one-sided conversation was anything to go by.

“It’s just lunch, a business lunch, it’s not like it’s a date,” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed his hands raw with that new eucalyptus soap that he had bought at the farmer’s market with Richie last Sunday.

“LA is slowly turning you into a hipster, Mr Nu Yawk,” Richie had snorted in a truly terrible New York accent as he chowed down on his cinnamon churros, getting sugary residue all over his stubble in a way that should have exasperated Eddie, but instead had his stomach clenching as he fought the urge to lean up on his tiptoes and lick it off.

He had forced himself to just roll his eyes, despite every atom in his body screaming at him, forking over far too many bills for the far too small a soap and kept walking. Richie trailed behind much like a hyperactive kid forced into clothes shopping with his mother, stopping seemingly at each individual stall and eyeing everything from essential oils to pillows embroidered with _Eat, Pray, Love_ , just to rile Eddie up.

They looked like a couple.

It was a thought that had floated into Eddie’s mind like a less ominous balloon on more than one occasion. But there was just something about the farmer’s market on a Sunday morning that seemed to solidify the image even further in his mind’s eye. Something so…domestic about it. Shopping for their home together.

_Their home._

Their home where Richie was currently changing into the shirt that made Eddie’s breath hitch so he could go on a lunch date with his ex-not-quite-boyfriend-but-had-still-professed-his-love-to-guy.

He could practically feel his pulse speeding up, his blood pumping erratically around his body. And to think, less than five hours ago, his heart rate had been racing for a whole other reason - waking up in Richie Tozier’s bed.

Warmth pooled in his gut as he cast his mind back to the sight that he had awoken to - the crinkled, definitely drooling face of his best friend, smushed deep into his pillow, snoring a lot softer than Eddie remembered him doing when he was a kid.

Eddie hadn’t intended on falling asleep, of course. He had every intention of singing a few Sinatra songs and booking it the fuck outta there, but he had had a long day, a tiring day and his eyes had gotten heavy.

Sometime during the night, they had migrated closer together, not quite touching, but almost.

As Eddie had stared across that strip of empty space separating them, an ache, from deep down in his being, the same one that had festered within him since childhood, reared its ugly head.

His hand had spasmed as he fought the urge to reach out and hook one of Richie’s wayward curls behind his ear.

“Knock, knock, Eds, ya fall in or somethin’?”

Eddie jumped, spat from his reverie, as Richie’s loud voice wafted in from behind the door. He took a shaky breath, lifting his head to meet his own eye in the mirror. His face was several shades darker than the overpriced, organic tomatoes currently sitting in their vegetable crisper. (Another purchase from Sunday’s trip that Richie teased him endlessly for.)

“Get a grip, Kaspbrak,” he hissed at himself before drying his hands and flinging open the bathroom door.

“How many times do I have to tell you, don’t say ‘knock, knock’, just—”

The rest of his sentence died in his throat as his eyes landed on Richie.

Damn that navy shirt and it’s classy casual sexiness.

Richie looked...hot.

So goddamn hot in his well-fitted navy shirt with flamingo patterns around the collar and dark jeans that Eddie ached to reach out and smooth his hands down his chest to feel the thrum of his heartbeat under the soft material.

(And if he lingered a little around his hips, and maybe a little lower, then that was his business.)

“You uh...you look…” he waved a hand to give it something to do that didn’t involve fondling his friend, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning, “you look good, Rich.”

A flush of crimson passed over Richie’s face as he surveyed himself, clearly not convinced.

“Eh, I mean, the shirt’s nice, but—”

“Robby won’t know what hit him,” Eddie cut across what is sure to be a self-deprecating joke.

“Bobby.”

Eddie knew that. Of course he did. But honestly, fuck that guy. He didn’t deserve anyone remembering his name. Who the fuck cheats on Richie fucking Tozier? What type of Grade A asshole has a guy like that and decides his valet is the better option? What kind of fucking idiot spends more than a second in Richie Tozier's company and _doesn’t_ fall head over heels in love with him?

Definitely not Edward Francis Kaspbrak, anyway.

That ship well and truly sailed back in the mid-’80s.

He had just forgotten for a while.

But now, after reconnecting, dying, resurrecting, moving across the country and living together for over five months, all those old feelings that he had once upon a time dismissed as just childhood nonsense, were anything but. They were back (remembered and re-discovered) and stronger than ever.

And Eddie was so, so, fucked.

“Right. Bobby,” he faux-corrected himself, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck as he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the very well-dressed, very distracting, love of his life.

He could feel Richie’s eyes on him as he shuffled towards the side table where they kept the car keys by the front door.

“If we leave now, the traffic shouldn’t—”

“Wait, you’re driving me?”

Eddie paused, hand hovering over his keys, eyes finding the familiar, slightly widened ones framed by glasses.

“Uh…”

He shouldn’t have been so thrown by that question, but he was. It was just, for the last while, Eddie had done most of the driving. It was rare that either one of them ran an errand alone, so apart from the very seldom occasion that Richie deemed it necessary that his ridiculously flashy, mid-life-crisis-on-wheels ‘gets some air,’ they nearly always travelled together in Eddie’s very sensible, if a little eco-unfriendly, SUV.

Even though Richie maintained Eddie drove either “like he was being chased by a chainsaw-wielding madman or his infirm grandma on the way to church, there is no inbetween with you, Eds.”

So really, Eddie hadn’t given a second thought to how weird it would be if he drove Richie to a definitely-not-date-business-meeting with his ex. Heat flooded his cheeks as he took a step away from the front door.

“Uh right, sorry, you don’t need me to—”

“No, no,” Richie took a giant stride forward so they were barely a foot apart, “far be it from me to separate you for your lady love, Mrs Gas Guzzler outside.”

Eddie searched his friend’s face, recognising the nerves hidden behind the patented bravado.

_Some things never change._

Richie swiped a hand over his forehead, adding quietly, “I’d uh...I’d appreciate the ride, man.”

Like a trick of the light, Eddie suddenly saw his friend at 41 and 14 all at once. Same shy smile, same bright eyes, superimposed on one another like pictures taken thirty years apart. A familiar warmth that he had felt at 14, flowed through Eddie’s veins like a balm. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he merely nodded and grabbed his keys.

Something told him this drive wasn’t going to be anything like Sunday morning trips to buy overpriced soap.

~*~

The journey was...quiet. Something being in a car with Edward Kaspbrak at the wheel almost never was. Richie fought the urge to drum his fingers against the passenger-side door, knowing how much Eddie hated that. Usually, that would be the exact reason he’d do it, but there was just something...tenuous today that he didn’t want to test by poking that particular pressure point.

All too soon (LA traffic was clearly conspiring against him by being reasonable for once), they pulled up outside the Frying Nemo café and it hit Richie that he was actually doing this. He was actually going to sit down with Bobby Valens, a man who, the last time he had seen him, critiqued his blowjob skills and topped off the evening by reiterating that he couldn’t be ‘exclusive’ with a closet-case when it meant he couldn’t fuck his valet whenever he pleased.

_Cool. Cool, cool, cool._

“You gonna be okay?”

He could feel Eddie’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his face as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Yeah, Eds. I’m a big boy, I’ll be fine.”

He wished he felt as sure as he sounded. He really did.

_Come on, man. You’ve faced a demonic space clown twice and killed your maniac childhood bully with an axe. You can have one business lunch with your ex-associate-with-benefits._

“Okay, well, uh...just call me if you need a ride home.”

Richie frowned, turning to look at Eddie who seemed to be doggedly staring out the windshield at two pedestrians yelling at each other.

“Why wouldn’t I need a ride home? I know you've been trying to get me to exercise, Spaghetti, but I’m definitely not gonna walk all the—”

“I just mean, if you and Bobby, I don’t know, start reminiscing and rekindling something or whatever,” Eddie waved a dismissive hand, still not looking at Richie, “...you might not need me.”

Richie blinked.

“I always need you.”

_Why don’t you just propose and get it over with, jackass?_

He bit the inside of his cheek in punishment, but the damage was done.

“To uh...to pick you up, I meant,” Eddie replied, clearing his throat, face flushed.

Richie knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he was astounded by how Eddie didn’t seem to realise just how absolutely fucking imperative he was in pretty much every aspect of Richie’s life.

"The sentiment still stands."

With that, he opened the car door and hopped out before he lost his nerve.

“Thanks, Eds,” he mumbled, leaning in the passenger window to where Eddie finally caught his eye, “wish me luck.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Eddie’s face.

“Good luc—"

The blast of a car horn cut him off.

“I’M DROPPING SOMEONE OFF, ASSHOLE! GO AROUND!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder at what looked like a scandalised soccer-mom in a hatchback.

Richie chuckled, always tickled by his friend’s intense road-rage. He could tell, even without turning to look that they had gained the attention of many of Frying Nemo’s patrons and a petty part of him kinda hoped that Bobby was one of them.

_See, Valens? I have people who care about me so much that they’ll scream at random moms in the street. Suck on that._

“Later, Ratso. I’ll call ya when I’m done. Thanks, man.”

He gave him a quick grin and a cheeky wave before turning on his heel and forcing himself to head inside, lest he do something dumb like lean into the car and kiss Eddie goodbye.

“That reference doesn’t even make sense!”

Richie snorted as Eddie yelled after him before honking the horn, presumably at mother-of-the-year behind him and pulled away with more gas than probably needed. It never failed to baffle him how a man who could be so soft, so caring and kind with his friends, could also be that big of an asshole. Eddie Kaspbrak was a man with layers.

And Richie loved him for it.

“Wow. I think your boyfriend needs some anger management, Rick.”

Richie’s eyes snapped up, fingers hovering over the door handle to the restaurant as Bobby Valens saddled up beside him.

"Nah," Richie shook his head, not bothering to correct the term 'boyfriend' for reasons he didn't wanna look too closely at, "he manages just fine. That momager in the hatchback though, she might need therapy now."

A familiar, too-white smile passed over his ex's (admittedly handsome) face.

"You haven't changed a bit, Rick."

"And I told you before Bobby, it's Rich, Richie or Sir, if you're nasty," Richie replied airily before throwing the door open and gesturing, "let's get this over with, shall we?"

~*~

He should just go home.

Home to his house.

Where he lived.

With Richie.

Instead, he was in the parking lot of a Whole Foods just two blocks away from Frying Nemo, head resting on his steering wheel, his stomach nauseous as he recalled what he had seen in the rear view mirror as he peeled away from the restaurant over an hour ago.

A tall, blond man approaching Richie, a smile on his incredibly attractive face. Of course it was Bobby. It had to be. In Eddie’s experience, the universe was never kind enough to him for the plausibility of Richie’s ex-boyfriend being anything but an Alexander Skarsgård lookalike.

“Get a fucking grip, Kaspbrak,” he grumbled under his breath. “It’s not a date, and even if it was, that’s none of your business. You’re his best friend, his roommate, not his boyfrien—”

_Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long? And wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong…_

Slowly, Eddie raised his head from the steering wheel as the familiar song filled the car from the almost-mute radio. Reaching out, he turned up the volume. Suddenly, a memory jumped forward from the deep recesses of his mind - a sunny afternoon in the Tozier kitchen, Richie’s mom at the kitchen sink, washing up dishes after she, Eddie and Richie had spent the last hour making chocolate brownies. They couldn’t have been more than nine or ten at the time, still young enough not to completely scoff at the idea of spending time with parents, but old enough to be trusted with kitchen utensils.

Well, Eddie was anyway.

Richie had begged to lick the spoon, because of course he did. Which launched little Eddie into a conniption about salmonella and good cooking hygiene which had Richie rolling his eyes and dipping his finger into the remnants of the mixture and swiping it across Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie could vividly remember the high-pitched squeal he had let out to his best friend’s endless amusement.

“You’re so gross, Rich! Do you have any idea how much—”

The feel of a finger swiping back against his cheek cut him off. He watched wide-eyed as Richie raised his finger to his mouth and licked the chocolate clean off.

“RICHIE!”

That had only made Richie laugh harder.

“Relax, Eds. I’m not afraid of your germs,” he grinned toothily, his overbite seemingly taunting Eddie as he frantically wiped at his cheek.

“Well you should be!”

“Afraid of _that_ face? Nope, never,” Richie’s grin widened as his other hand darted out and pinched the cheek Eddie wasn’t cleaning only to have Eddie bat it away, his stomach twisting, his entire face heating up for some reason.

“Richard, stop that,” Maggie Tozier piped up kindly but firmly, her back still turned as she dried her soapy hands on a dish cloth and fiddled with the knobs on the radio.

_...in the kind of world where we belong. You know it's gonna make it that much better, when we can say goodnight and stay together…_

“Aw mom,” Richie’s nose crinkled, “can’t we listen to—”

“And after having spent the day together,” Maggie sang over Richie’s protests to the amusement of Eddie, winking at him over her shoulder, “hold each other close the whole night through…”

She let out a surprised laugh when Went, Richie's dad, took that opportunity to appear behind his wife and wrap her in a hug, mumbling into her ear as he swayed them back and forth.

Richie made gagging noises and motions at both the lyrics and his parents' antics (even though Eddie thought it was nice, an ache forming somewhere in his chest as he looked at them, happy and in love), but to his surprise, Richie soon began humming along too, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s.

He remembered looking at him, then, when Richie wasn’t paying attention, too focused on ignoring his parents and scraping out the bowl for more chocolate to lick, swaying gently back and forth almost unbeknownst himself. Eddie had had thought, then, in his ten year old mind, that it would be nice. To live with Richie, germs and all, in the kinda world that didn’t constantly shit on them for being losers and freaks and...all the other horrible words that they were called. He did think and wish and hope and pray that it would come true. That someday they could get far, far away from Derry and all the shitty things that went with it.

_We could be married, we could be married, and then we'd be happy, and then we'd be happy - oh, wouldn't it be nice?_

Oh.

_Oh._

Eddie had felt his cheeks heat up then. He had never paid attention to those lyrics before.

His stomach had swooped in a way he could never understand when he caught the small smile on Richie’s face, his eyes dancing bright behind his glasses, as their shoulders lightly brushed together, but he was old and wise enough to get it now, sitting alone in a Whole Foods parking lot.

_I loved him even then._

Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz.

Eddie was snapped out of his trip down memory lane by the sound of a vibration coming from somewhere in the front of the car. Bewildered, he looked around, instinctively knowing it couldn’t be his phone. Eventually, his eyes fell onto the passenger seat and he sighed heavily.

Richie’s cell lay face up, alight with what looked like a Twitter notification.

The idiot had forgotten his phone.

“So much for calling me when he’s done,” Eddie grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes and straightening up further, sliding his keys into the ignition.

Looked like he was making yet another trip to Richie’s favourite LA dive.

~*~

He was definitely overdressed. He knew that going in. Hell, he knew that when Eddie had suggested this shirt in the first place, but fuck. It was _Eddie._ What was he gonna do, say no? The record showed that he hadn’t been able to achieve that feat since he had refused to help Eddie come up with date ideas for Stacey Winters when he was strong armed into asking her to the Fall Festival in ‘91.

Turned out, he could only handle so much, and apparently his threshold was helping the love of his life plan a date for someone else. Everything else though? Fair game. Hence, the fancy navy shirt Bev designed for his birthday in an establishment where the most people ‘dressed up’ was wearing rhinestone flip flops.

"You look good, Tozier," Bobby smiled, gesturing at him as they were ushered to their seats by a flustered waitress.

The lunch rush had just begun. Frying Nemo may have been known for being a little rough around the edges, but they made (among other things) a damn good tuna melt. And anyone not off gluten, fish or dairy within a twenty block radius knew it.

"Thanks," Richie murmured as he picked up his menu (despite knowing what he wanted already), just to avoid eye-contact, "you too."

He looked like a runway model dressed in beachwear who had wandered off the catwalk and into this greasy spoon diner by mistake.

But fucked if Richie would tell him so.

Besides, in recent years, he had been reminded what _actual_ beauty was to him and it was less Malibu Ken and more small-town-in-Maine Ken.

(Not that he would ever tell Eddie that either.)

“So, what’s good here?”

Richie allowed his eyes to trail up over the top of the menu to meet the icy-grey gaze that had once held his attention but now made him realise he actually found a little off-putting when levelled his way.

“Uh, the tuna melt, cheese burger, hot wings and cheese steak are all safe bets,” he murmured, “but my all-time favourite has gotta be the Mac ‘n’ Cheese. It’s the second-best in all of L.A.”

“Only second?”

Richie tilted his head.

“Yeah. Eddie’s is first.”

Bobby’s eyebrow quirked as he gestured over his shoulder, “And that was Eddie in the SUV—”

“Yelling at the soccer mom, yeah.”

A slow smile passed over Bobby’s face. Richie’s stomach lurched.

“He’s cute.”

“He’s not your type.”

“No. He’s yours.”

Richie could feel his face heat up.

The smile grew bigger.

Richie shifted in his seat.

“I don’t have a type.”

Bobby chuckled, a sharp, thin sound that Richie found he hadn’t missed at all.

“Yeah Rich, you do. I always knew I was the exception.”

Richie dropped the menu, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his seat.

“The fuck does that mean?”

They were doing this. After three years, they were finally having this conversation in the middle of a crowded diner when they were supposed to be talking about Richie’s comeback.

Huh. So much for professionalism.

“It means,” Bobby leaned forward, steepling his fingers, lips quirked, “that I always knew your head, heart, and sometimes dick, wasn’t in it, Tozier.”

Richie’s jaw dropped.

“I knew it, and deep down, I think you did too.”

Richie snorted, shaking his head, “Is that what ya gotta say to yourself to justify getting blown by Evan in the back seat of the limo I sent for you? That I just _wasn’t into it anyway_ so what’s a little extracurricular dickalingus between friends?”

He could hear the tightness in his voice. The bitterness. And worst of all, the hurt.

Embarrassment curled in his gut.

A flash of...shame (?) crossed Bobby’s face. Richie wasn’t sure, he never could read him well.

“I am sorry about that, Richie. I—I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I know it’s no excuse, but I could tell you weren’t that into it so I...I didn’t think you’d care. We hadn’t defined anything and—”

“Yeah, yeah, save the speech, Valens. I got it the first time,” Richie cut him off with a wave of his hand, “let’s just do what we came here to do, okay? Steve will have my balls in a vice if I don’t at least try his shitty re-branding idea.”

Bobby nodded, jaw tight but offering no argument.

And so, they ordered lunch, Richie going with his Mac ‘n’ Cheese and Bobby opting for the shrimp salad. Richie forced himself to at least feign paying attention as Bobby talked logistics of his new, post-coming-out image and, loath Richie admit it, he even had some pretty good ideas how to market this more honest, real version of Richie without completely alienating his entire following - just the homophobes, racists and sexists. ‘Cause fuck them.

“Steve gave me a taste of your new material Rich, and holy crap, it’s gold,” Bobby smiled as he laid down his fork after taking his last bite, “the stuff with the Losers, growing up in Maine, it’s funny shit, man. I gotta ask though,” he paused, looking a little conflicted as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say what was on his mind.

Richie’s nerves pricked under his skin as he waited.

“Is the hypochondriac, fanny-pack kid, the same Eddie as....” he waved over his shoulder meaningfully.

“Mr Road Rage personified?” Richie asked.

Bobby nodded.

Richie felt as if this was some sort of test that not only did he not study for, but had slept through every single class.

“Uh, yeah. Same guy.”

Something that looked a lot like understanding passed over Bobby’s face.

“So you’ve known him since you were a kid?”

Oh yeah. Richie was flunking this. Big time.

“Since kindergarten, yeah. We uh...we lost touch after high school, but reconnected a few years ago.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he muttered softly, “Well, that explains a lot.”

Richie knew he’d just received his first ‘F’ since he tried to bring his diorama made out of dried snot to Show ‘n’ Tell in first grade.

“What exactly does that ‘explain?’”

Bobby’s steely gaze met his.

“He’s not just your type, Rich. He’s your _prototype._ ”

“What?”

Richie cringed at his voice that was noticeably an octave higher than usual, snatching up his glass of iced tea and taking a large gulp.

“Let’s be real, you always gravitated towards short, dark-haired, kinda pissy guys,” Bobby shrugged, watching him closely, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like Eddie is the original ‘short, pissy brunet’ in your life. Ergo...prototype.”

_God. What kinda asshole says ‘ergo’?_

Richie was very aware that he was gaping, (probably like the fish that the table next to them had definitely ordered if the smell was any indication,) but he couldn’t stop himself.

Because, fuck. Bobby had a point.

Now that he thought about it, all the guys he had had any passing interest in over the years, from his first fling in college, to his infrequent hook-ups in bars and later, Grindr, had all been similar in appearance, and the few he had actually had had a conversation with were noticeably more…snarky than most.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He had somehow subconsciously sought out Eddie-replacements even when he couldn’t properly remember the asshole.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?!_

“First of all, Eddie is more than some short, pissy brunet,” Richie began, jabbing his fork at Bobby, the need to defend his best friend stronger than any current crisis he was having, “he's smart, he’s funny, shit, _way_ funnier than me, and has the biggest heart of anyone I know. Second of all, just because I blew a few dark-haired dudes in my time does _not_ mean I have a type, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, Rich. Easy,” Bobby laughed, holding up his hands in surrender, “I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just an observation. I’m glad you found someone. Really.”

Richie’s silence must have spoken volumes, because Bobby started frowning, leaning across the table with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Eddie _is_ your boyfriend, right?”

Just as Richie opened his mouth, a hand landed on his shoulder.

“You forgot something, genius.”

Richie’s eyes snapped up to meet Eddie who was holding out his cellphone with the hand that wasn’t currently resting an inch from the slope of his neck. He fought back a shiver. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault he didn’t know just how much of an erogenous zone that was for him.

“Eds, uh...how-how long have you been standing there?” he forced out as his gaze trailed over his friend’s face that was marred with something unreadable.

“I just got here,” Eddie shrugged, their fingers brushing as he dropped the phone into Richie’s palm and held out his now empty one to Bobby.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he began, not sounding very sorry at all, his grip tensing a little on Richie’s shoulder.

Bobby blinked before reaching out to shake the offered hand.

“It’s all good, we’re just about wrapping up anyway. I’m Bobby. An old friend of Richie’s.”

Eddie blinked.

“I’m Eddie. An older friend of Richie’s.”

They shook hands for what felt like an uncomfortably-long time.

“Uh…” Richie murmured, looking back and forth between the pair as their hands finally dropped, “okay, we good then, Bobby? You get everything you need for Friday?”

Bobby’s eyes stayed locked onto Eddie’s for a beat before he finally met Richie’s.

“Yeah, Rich. We’re good to go.”

“Okay cool,” Richie began as he went to stand up, only to have Eddie push him gently back down, hand still clamped on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth against his collarbone in a way that if they weren’t in a crowded restaurant, Richie would have allowed himself to enjoy a bit too much.

“I’ll bring the car ‘round…” Eddie murmured quietly, as he leaned down impossibly close, and to Richie’s astonishment, kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth, barely half an inch from his lips.

As he pulled away, Richie stared up at him, their eyes finally meeting. He couldn’t read what was laced there, in that dark gaze that he never quite forgot over those twenty-three, Eddie-less years.

“I’ll let you guys finish up,” Eddie continued louder, still staring so intently that Richie felt he was being X-rayed before turning away and addressing their very captive audience.

“Nice meeting you, Bobby,” he said in a way that suggested it was anything but, before he inclined his head at Richie and turned on his heel, “I’ll see you in the car, Rich.”

With that, he took his leave, Richie swivelling in his seat to keep gaping at his retreating back.

_Eds kissed me._

_Eddie Kaspbrak just fucking kissed me._

_Me._

_Practically on the mouth._

_Holy shit._

“Wow. He does not like me one bit, huh?” Bobby snort-laughed from behind Richie, breaking him for his inner-freak-out, “can’t say I blame the guy.”

Richie slowly turned around in his seat.

“I really am sorry, Rich. For what it’s worth.”

Richie could do nothing more than nod, still unable to fully snap himself out of it as the waitress began to approach their table.

“Can we get the check, please?”

~*~

“Fuck, shit, fuck!”

Eddie fought the urge to punch the steering wheel as he hissed to himself in the driver’s seat. He had left the cafe and walked back to the car in a blur, managing to pull it round front despite his mind being full of static, like angry bees, his body working on autopilot, incapable of higher brain function because...he had just kissed Richie.

He fucking _kissed_ Richie Tozier.

His best friend since kindergarten.

Right on the edge of his mouth, in front of his ex-boyfriend.

“What the fuck is _wrong with me_?” he growled under his breath as he squeezed the wheel, watching as his knuckles flushed a ghostly white.

He didn’t know what came over him, he really didn’t. His intention had just been to give Richie his dumb phone and hightail it outta there as fast as his loafers could carry him, but when he had approached the table…

“Eddie _is_ your boyfriend, right?”

That’s what Bobby had asked.

His tone sounded almost smug, as if he had somehow caught Richie out, and so Eddie just...acted. Before he could think, could analyse the potential risks, he leaned down and kissed Richie like a boyfriend would when saying goodbye.

Because fuck Bobby Valens. Fuck him for trying to get Richie to admit that he was still single. Fuck him for maybe implying that if that were the case, than maybe they could rekindle something. Fuck him for—

_But is that what he was implying?_

The thought crept in from the depths of his mind, a tiny, uncertain voice that somehow sounded like his 13-year-old-self.

_Or were you just afraid of what Richie would say?_

“Phew, sorry Eds, some dude wanted a selfie.”

Eddie jumped as Richie wrenched open the passenger door and climbed in, pulling on his seatbelt and drumming his hands on his knees, hyperactive energy wafting from him in droves.

“You didn’t yell the guy’s face off, did you?” Eddie forced himself to reply, willing his voice to be normal as he focussed on the road, pulling away from the curb, the ridiculously-named cafe and Bobby fucking Valens and his dumb hot-Swedish-actor looks.

He could practically feel Richie’s wince as he no doubt thought of the poor kid from The Jade of the Orient. Eddie mentally sent up his thanks to magic-turtle-bullshit for resurrecting Dean and the other recently-dead kids along with him, Stan and Adrian Mellon. It may have forever traumatised and baffled their loved-ones, and probably put the kids in therapy for the rest of their lives, but at least they were alive for Richie to mistakenly freak out at them again.

“No, I didn’t yell at him,” Richie snorted, his fingers still tapping on his knees, “even when he quoted the girlfriend’s friend’s Facebook joke at me.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to wince as he pulled to a stop at a red light.

“Well, just think - soon, they’ll be quoting your own words back at you instead.”

“Huh. Yeah. Maybe.”

Seconds ticked by as Eddie stared up at the stop light, hyper-aware of Richie’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his face.

“Definitely,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the light, “your stuff is a million times funnier than—”

“—Why did you kiss me, Eddie?”

Despite knowing it was coming, Eddie’s heart still leapt into his throat as he clenched his hands around the wheel, willing for the light to turn green just so he would have something to do to postpone answering.

The light stayed red.

And the universe was plotting against him again.

_Time to face the music, Kaspbrak._

“I uh...I’m sorry about that, Rich,” he thought was as good a start as any as he swallowed the bile rising up his throat, “I um...I thought...I heard Bobby ask if I was your boyfriend when I was walking up to the table and I...I guess I thought it was a good idea for him to think that you’d moved on from him?”

It phrased it like a question even though, upon reflection, he realised that was exactly what was going through his mind as he heard that asshat inquire about their relationship.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a shitty thing to do, though.

The light stayed red.

Eddie let out a slow breath, “That wasn’t my call to make though. I...I realise that and I’m sorry. You’re successful and happy in your own right, in or out of a relationship. It wasn’t my place to let him think that we—that you and me are—whatever he probably thought. I’m sorry if I fucked up something for you guys.”

The light turned green.

Richie stayed quiet.

Eddie stepped on the gas with more gusto than probably needed.

He resolutely did not look to his right.

They travelled about two blocks when Richie finally piped up.

“You didn’t fuck anything up, Eds. I wouldn’t take that dickwad back if he shit gold and his come tasted like chocolate.”

_Don’t think about Richie blowing Bobby. Don’t think about Richie blowing—_

“Besides,” Richie continued airily, “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. Don’t think I ever did. It’s not like I was in love with the guy.”

Eddie’s grip loosened on the steering wheel, his eyes wandering to his right almost against his will.

Richie was staring right back at him.

“Wait...you weren’t in love with him? But—” Eddie blinked, “but I thought you said you told him you were? That he was the only person you ever said it to?”

Richie shrugged, “I did. He was. But I didn’t realise back then that I didn’t actually mean it.”

He shifted in his seat a little, eyes falling to his lap.

“I only recently remembered what actual love feels like. And figured out my heart was never really his to break.”

Eddie’s own heart lurched in his chest.

The loud beep of a car horn shook him from his trance.

_Shit. When had he stopped the car?_

“Uh, you good, Eds?”

Richie was back looking at him now, a flicker of concern in his wide, blue eyes that had haunted Eddie’s dreams in the dead of night for long, lonely years.

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie shook his head, trying to get his focus back on the road and not on what, or maybe who, made Richie have such a realisation.

_That way madness lies._

Another few minutes passed in relative silence, though not really for Eddie as his pulse was pounding loudly in his ears. He was just entertaining the idea of turning on the radio to drown it out, when he heard Richie begin softly mumbling a familiar melody under his breath.

“Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long? And wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belon—”

Eddie made a sharp lane-change, ignoring various car horns as he abruptly pulled the car to a stop, putting it in park and taking his keys out of the ignition.

“Eddie, what the—”

“We’re older,” he cut across a startled Richie, whose eyes were so wide behind his glasses it reminded Eddie of his coke-bottle ones from fourth grade.

“What?”

Eddie raised his gaze up a little to meet Richie’s.

“Why did you sing that song?”

A line formed in between Richie’s eyebrows.

“The Beach Boys? I uh...I heard it in the diner during lunch. It reminded me of that time when we—”

“Made brownies with your mom,” Eddie finished, his heart racing as he took off his seatbelt, letting it fling back against the door in the way he usually hated but could not give a fuck about now.

Richie’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“Eds, what are you—”

“ _We’re older,_ Richie,” Eddie repeated, swallowing the lump in his throat, dragging a palm down his face as he internally warred with himself.

_What the fuck are you doing, Kaspbrak?!_

Richie blinked.

“Yeah man, we’re old as shit. What’s that gotta—”

“We’re older and we live together and...” the words lodged in Eddie’s throat, his breath catching.

Suddenly, he was flinging the car door open and stepping out.

“Eddie!”

He could hear Richie frantically unbuckling his seatbelt, scrambling to open his own door, but was far too focused on trying to gasp in breaths, cursing not for the first time, his lack of inhaler, however obsolete he knew it truly was.

Richie stumbled around the car to the driver’s side, catching himself on the wing mirror and straightening up before reaching his hand out to lightly rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just breathe, Eds. You’re okay, I got you. It’ll pass, man. You’re fine—”

Eddie stepped forward, forcing Richie backwards, crowding him against the car.

“I wanted what your mom and dad had.”

A myriad of expressions crossed Richie’s face as he clutched his forearm, raising his head to reach his eyeline.

“Eddie—”

“That day making brownies, watching your mom and dad sing and dance around the kitchen, that’s when I started wanting to have that...with you.”

“You...wanna sing and dance in our kitchen with me?”

Eddie almost groaned at the confusion marring Richie’s face and lacing his tone.

_Why are words so hard?_

“Richie,” he breathed, heart bashing against his ribcage as he struggled to express what he was feeling, “we’re not those kids anymore. We’re older, we live together, we say goodnight and…”

Whatever surge of courage that had been fueling him quickly started to drain as he heard how insane he sounded. He felt himself deflate.

“Shit, I—I don’t know what I’m doing. Forget it. Sorry...let’s just go home.”

He let go of Richie’s arm, made to step back towards the car door, only for Richie to grab his hand, tugging him gently back.

“Our home.”

Eddie stared at their joined hands before slowly raising his eyes back up.

Something was shining in Richie’s gaze that had his stomach flipping.

“We have a home,” he continued, “we have a place that’s just for us, where we can dance around like my mom and dad if we wanted...where we’re happy.”

He squeezed Eddie’s hand.

“You sing around me.”

Eddie nodded.

“Because I’m the exception. Have always been the exception. That’s what you said.”

Eddie nodded again.

“Why is that, Eds? Why am I—”

Eddie surged up and cut him off with a kiss, hard and chaste.

Richie stumbled back in surprise, his other hand flying to Eddie’s hip as he fell back against the edge of the hood, dragging Eddie down with him.

The kiss broke on impact.

Eddie straightened up, eyes springing open, his entire body freezing as his brain caught up with him.

_Shit. You’ve done it now, asswipe._

~*~

Eddie looked like a deer caught in the biggest headlights known to man. His large, dark, Bambi-eyes as wide as saucers.

It made Richie’s stomach swoop all the same while he leaned against the car for half a second, to give himself a moment to digest what just happened. To give his world time to right its axis.

The love of his life had just kissed him. Again. For the second time in less than an hour.

Except this time, it wasn’t for an audience, and it was square on the lips.

_Holy fuck._

“Shit, Rich—I’m sorry. I…” Eddie shuffled back, looking for all intents and purposes like he was preparing to just run straight into the passing traffic.

“Shit, I’ve fucked things up, haven’t I?” he rambled, raking his hands through his hair, it sticking up at all angles, his voice rising with borderline hysteria as he continued to back away, “Shit, I’m such a fucking idiot. You don’t want—I shouldn’t have—”

Richie leapt up off the car and closed the distance between them so fast he felt his head spin. He halted half a foot from Eddie, bending his knees _just slightly_ to catch his gaze.

He took a deep breath, finally allowing himself to ask the question he had wanted to ask since he was a lovesick, utterly-smitten twelve year old.

“Eds. Eddie...can I kiss you?”

A shaky gasp escaped Eddie’s lips half second before he gave a vigorous jerk of his head, a definite, unmistakable nod.

Elation flowed through Richie’s entire body as he slowly leaned down, his heart feeling as if it was going to burst out of his chest John-Hurt-style any second now.

He reached out to gently clasp Eddie’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the slightly-raised scar that lay there. One of two scars that proved just how brave this man was.

Their lips met, softer this time, but no less passionate.

Eddie let out the quietest of moans, lighting a spark in Richie’s gut as his tongue trailed his bottom lip. He felt Eddie’s hands grip his waist tightly as the kiss deepened, their tongues brushing against each other.

Richie hummed into the kiss, eyebrows shooting up his forehead as Eddie began pushing him until his back collided with the car door with enough force to slam it closed, his shoulders thumping against the window.

The kiss broke as the need for oxygen took over.

Richie heaved in desperate breaths, cupping Eddie’s chin and peppering his jaw with pecks.

“G-Gotta say, Eds. I’m loving the man-handling.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh.

"It's always kinda been a fantasy of mine to make out with you up against my car, on the hood, in the backseat…"

Molten heat pooled in Richie’s abdomen.

“Right. I forgot about your hard-on for cars.”

Eddie shoved him, harder this time, before leaning up pecking his lips, once, twice.

“Do not mention hard-ons right now, dipshit.”

A giddy thrill ran up Richie’s spine as he tilted his head all innocent-like.

“Whyever not, Eduardo?

The glare Eddie attempted to level him with was less effective with his hands wandering along Richie’s lower-back, ghosting over his tail-bone.

“You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

Richie’s brain short-circuited.

Eddie tensed, his hands freezing in place as he tilted back to stare up at him.

“I-I mean, uh—”

“And you’re such a little turd,” Richie replied, his voice hoarse, his heart singing as he finally said the words that had felt written into his very DNA, “I can’t believe I’ve been in love with _you_ since your fanny-pack days.”

Something settled within Richie, then. Slotting into place like a puzzle piece finally found.

_Huh. So that's how it feels to mean it._

A bright, beautiful smile broke out on Eddie’s face, his eyes noticeably shiny.

Richie could feel the tell-tale stinging in his own, knowing he was seconds from blubbering on the side of the road like a drunk girl after a party.

Patting Eddie’s cheek, softer than he had that time down in the sewers, Richie placed one last kiss on the side of his mouth before tapping his hip.

“Hmm, let’s get you home, Spagheds. I’m pretty sure we’re illegally parked and I think you’ve pissed off enough of L.A’s motorists for one day.”

He could practically feel Eddie roll his eyes as they righted themselves, Richie forlornly making his way back around the car and into the passenger seat.

It was when they were pulling into their driveway, hands clasped together as they rested high on Eddie’s thigh, that Richie heard the quiet, dulcet tones that he had fallen in love with.

“And wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong? You know it's gonna make it that much better, when we can say goodnight and stay together…”

_Who needs Frank Sinatra when you’ve got Eddie Kaspbrak?_

**Author's Note:**

> [ Come yell at me about these Losers on Tumblr ](https://octoberobserver.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading this series! It was a lot of fun. [ Here are more Reddie fics ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/works?fandom_id=34555820) if you're interested :)


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